


Entwine

by bendy_quill



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Dancing, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 11:44:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11312697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendy_quill/pseuds/bendy_quill
Summary: Hawke and Isabela share a dance.





	Entwine

It sits on a corner a few blocks away from the wharf and bears the name “Home.” Maybe the name holds sentimental meaning, maybe the assumption yields a less than glamorous answer than expected. Either way, it’s this place called “Home” that turns into a magical place when she wants to let her hair down for the night.

Low lights flicker all over the place, skipping across the floors and walls, barely catching some of the serene faces of the patrons. They all look so nice dressed to the nines, beautiful people being loud and proud dancing the night away to their heart’s content.

She misses this place more often than she realizes.

“Hey.”

Lips press against her ear and the warmth of her breath sends a shiver down her spine. The tone she uses is familiar, intimate, more so in this place where the music drowns out the world outside of that packed entrance. She spares a look her way and takes in every aspect of her lover—charming smile and piercing eyes promising something really amazing that has yet to come. The light glints off the piercings on her face when it does find her and a hand slides around her waist.

“Care for a dance, Hawke?”

She only smiles in return, letting Isabela lead her by the hand to the dance floor. The bass thumps through the floor, beating to a rhythm they slip into immediately. Freeform at first, one step and then two steps, gyrating hips switching to the rhythm with Isabela gripping her hips with both hands.

A warm up really.

More grinding but she leans forward, hands on her knees for balance. Hands shift and slide, touch her where she wants. Sometimes, she straightens up again just to have those lips on her ear softly whispering the lyrics as they go.

A steady drum kicks in and she pivots on her heel. Isabela greets her with a smile first thing.

No words indicate leader or follower. There’s no need. It starts with a few steps at first, thighs bracing each other and hips rolling like the sea, crashing against each other in time with the beat of the drums. At the height of a wave, a hand braces against her ass and encouraging her to rise higher, more and more until they recede once again. Horns pick up but their winding bodies entwine further, her arms resting on Isabela’s shoulders and Isabela’s hands guiding their hips.

Her eyes dart to parted lips and she bites her own to stop her from leaning in. Maker help her, how close they press together with each grind, lips on necks and ears and temples, only to pull away while those eyes linger with that familiar heat burning in the depths.

The song carries on and so too does the dance— _one, two, step, one, two, step_. Across the floor they go, one of Isabela’s hands still gripping her hip and the other now holding hers tight.

In this moment, it’s just them.

No club.

No lights.

Nothing save for music and each other, Isabela leading and Hawke following her every step, both gliding across the floor tangled in a world of their own. There’s freedom in these steps, power in this rhythm, and joy in her bones. It calls to her the same way everything she loves calls to her—with certainty and with passion.

With heavy bangles jangling on her wrists and high heels clicking at every twist and turn.

With eyes lingering longer and longer on smiling, full lips framed by a single gold piercing.

With sweat beading on her scalp and hair flipping over her shoulders every time they switch positions.

At the end of the song, Isabela tilts her head back and laughs. In fact, they both laugh while holding hands still.

“Shit! I need a drink!” Isabela has to shout over the applause. She pulls her along through the crowd of people still clapping and eying both of them appreciatively.

“We’re getting back out there, right?” Hawke asks.

The look Isabela gives her is all she needs for an answer—one arched brow quirked and a smile tugging at one corner of her lips.

Oh, the night is still young.

 


End file.
